


What doesn't kill me (makes me)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Heavy Angst, Maggie doesn't deserve this shit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soul Bond, Soulmates, This is terrible why did I write this?, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: "I hope you got your shitting pants on."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I'm not sure why I decided this had to be written, but here we are. I thought it would be interesting to tackle the idea of if instead of Father Gabriel it was Maggie who was left behind with Negan.
> 
> Warnings: soul-mates, soul bond, fated love, angst, drama, romance, unresolved sexual tension, post traumatic stress disorder, mild consent issues. Negan is not a good person and Maggie doesn't deserve this.

"I hope you got your shitting pants on."

She should have been calm.

She'd practiced it enough times in her head.

Gone over what she would do.

How she would do it.

Rationally.

Emotionally.

Some safe middle ground straddling the two.

So, when she got caught in the open after Gregory sped off in the car - shutting herself into the retrofitted office as she checked her clip and braced her back against the door - she hated how she started to shake when his voice rang out.

Every part of her ran cold.

_Fear._

_Terror._

_Regret._

_Grief._

Then hot-

_Rage._

_Anger._

_Horror._

Then something worse than that.

Something that didn't even have a name.

She didn't say anything. She just melted deeper into the shadows as he carried on like she had. Talking to himself in that same sick, self-satisfied drone that made her fingers twitch around the trigger of her Glock.

"Your shitting pants. I hope you're wearin' 'em right now. Cause you are about to shit your pants."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Tasting iron-hot and tangy minerals as she watched Negan's outline slowly detach from the shadows. Feeling something in her harden when he swaggered forward, taking shape in the last of the light before swallowing it completely. Just like the worst kind of metaphor.

She swallowed, tasting the dust from the fight through the corridor of pulsing limbs and gaping mouths. The grit was tacky, scraping between her molars. But every bit of it was preferable to being forced to hear him speak.

"The widow...now why am I not surprised?"

She caught herself in the act of turning away. Something so visceral - so close to revulsion - shuddering through her at the thought of him recognizing her that she nearly shot out blindly. Forcing herself to look up, to tip her chin and look the bastard right in the eye. Watching Glenn's ghost flicker longingly over his shoulder as the shadows condensed, then spread. Slanting their dark tendrils across the room like something living, breathing and-

Her gun came up the same moment he tried to broach the space. Hating the smug expression that stretched as he grinned at her. One hand up like a mockery of surrender, the other firm around his bat. The one he'd named. A woman's name.

She shuddered again.

 _No_.

The line of her lips firmed like a bleeding slash. Imagining she could feel her father's hand on her shoulder. Giving her the strength she knew she had look him right on the eye like the pathetic nightmare he was.

She wasn't afraid.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"We haven't been formally introduced, sweetheart," he purred. Surprising her by actually sounding like he meant it. Like he wasn't using the same cat and mouse tone he'd been using when he started that rhyme in the clearing. The one she realized later had just been for show. The moment Abraham had stood straight and tall, gaze unwavering, Negan had already killed him. He just hadn't fallen down yet.

"I know who you are," she snapped into the dark. Proud when her voice came out sounding more or less steady.

"Yeah, you do, don't you?"

The beating limp fists on the other side of the wall beat an irregular staccato. Turning the atmosphere darker - edgy. Edgy like nails on a chalk board only with the complete absence of the , only without the sound. Just the feeling.

"See, I remember. You weren't lookin' so hot back then, but now,  _damn_ \- I'm liking the improvement. I asked Rick about you, you know?. I was concerned. Aw, don't look at me like that, sugar. I was, I promise. See, it'sIt's happened before, I've had to take care of business and most times, well, business-  _my business_ , makes widows. So, I do the only decent thing, I offer them a place here- at the Sanctuary. But see, Ricky-boy told me you were dead," Negan purred starting, acting like he was about to lean back, before thinking better of it. only to wobble. Limping strangely to the side as he hitched his hip, favoring his leg.

 _Had_   _Rick_   _got_   _him?_

"Imagine that," she returned coldly. Pressing down a fraction of an inch tighter on the trigger as he took another step forward. Leering down at her.

"They've been sticking to you like glue, widow. So how did you get left behind, hmmm?"

She closed her mouth, but the name came out anyway. Grudging and breakable as something dark flashed in the back of his eyes. So close to rage it actually confused her.

"Gregory."

Hatred rose again, but this time she wasn't sure who it was directed at, Negan or herself. Gregory was too irrelevant to waste energy on. He was pathetic and weak, but at the end of the day she was madder at herself for letting him get away at her expense. She couldn't afford to make those kind of mistakes anymore.  
_  
Why was she answering?_

She didn't owe him anything.

Just a bullet.

And even then, part of her screamed even that was too kind. Too quick. Too much like mercy. She hadn't lost herself when Glenn died, she didn't. She hadn't let the need for revenge consume her. But she'd decided a long time ago that Negan didn't get to live. Not him.

"Gregory, huh?" Negan hummed, shaking his head. "The weasel. Remind me to kill him later. It'll be on the house. Just for you, sweetheart."

Something in her, deep and mired in conflict, stretched out- tentative. Tentative and susceptible to being warmed as the thought made tracks. Sinking into her pores like every part of her was suddenly porous and damn near willing.

"Consider it a gesture of good faith. My way of making amends. Maybe we can start putting this ugly business behind us, and-"

The whine of slow-dying frequencies sang in her eardrums as her bullet buried itself into the wall half an inch from his face. Barrel shaking as she bared her teeth in a rictus-rage. Barely aware of him ducking and feinting right. Yowling out an excited note as he whistled appreciatively.

She blinked.

She missed.

 _How had she missed?_  
  
"Feisty! I like that in a woman! Whoo! Damn, if that wasn't the  _hottest_   _thing_  alive!"

She was still staring, numb and disbelieving at the neat hole the bullet had made in wall drilled just above where he'd been standing when Negan killed the space and grabbed her bodily. Finger-less gloves catching roughly against hers as they wrestled with the gun for a horrible half-second before he wrenched it away. The fingers of his free hand digging into her shoulder like talons. Like-

A soft warming glow lit up the dark space.

She looked down and realized it was coming from both of them. Hazing amber-rose - just like the stories. Like the light from the sun was hiding behind your eyelids -. Shining through the ivory of your bones, the tough of sinew and the thinnest of skin. Beading light like honey from his chest to hers, following. Following the spidering lines of veins until they were bound together in the same way. Until every muscle in her abruptly relaxed and she leaned slumped into the solid strength of him like she was breathing the first like. Like-

The wet sound of him choking on whatever he was going to say was damning.

She'd just plain stopped breathing.

Eyes fixed on the golden glow emanating from both of them,like it was the only impossible thing in the room. It was brightest in the center of both their chests, right where their hearts were beating. Able to feel the way one beat sped up to meet the other. Like they couldn't stand to be out of tune. Something in her desperately wanting to give as his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. Pulling her in like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Looking down at her like-

"What the shit?" he gasped, ragged and breathless as her forehead knocked weakly against his breastbone, trying to fight the need for more. To breathe in and just know him. Wanting it all as he tipped her chin up so he could see her. So she could see how stuttered and wrecked he looked. "What the god damned-"

They were close now.

So close she could feel his breath against her lips.

Spiced apples, aftershave and cinnamon-sweat.

And she could have him.

_He was hers._

Every part of him was hers.

_He'd been made for her._

In the oldest of ways and the newest of ways.

_Hers._

And she was his.

And they were finally-

Horror rose like bile when she realized she wanted to. Able to tell just by looking that his lower lip was soft –  _kissable_ \- despite the middle being just a little bit rough. Like he chewed on it when no one was looking. Realizing in the moment that it was worse that allthan that. Because she  _wanted_  to give in. To lean in and just breathhave him inhere for the rest of her life. Like Knowing deep down now that she had this, nothingnow that she'd found him, no one else would ever be-

She kneed him in the balls the same moment the glow petered out. The same moment his hand had cupped her face. Callouses gliding across her cheek like a raspy kiss as a hail of gunfire issued suddenly from outside.

But the worst part wasn't the knowledge that any minute this place was going to be surrounded by Saviors. It was the expression he flashed her between the pain and the moment the door slammed open. The one that translated into something almost fond as he looked up at her - clutching his privates and half-shrouded in the dark.

Like he was proud of her.

She hated that the most.

* * *

"Simon! Excellent timing! Would you please disarm our lovely widow? Gently and with the utmost respect, Regina. She's our guest. I want her treated as such. Now, let's get inside and see what the damage is, shall we?"

She committed everything to memory.

Looking for a way out.

A pattern.

Anything to distract herself from the obvious.

From the fact she could  _feel_  him under her skin.

The weight of the stares that followed them made her paranoid they might be able to see it somehow. That people could see the ugly truth of it just by looking. Fighting down revulsion and rage that threatened to pitch like sick-up. Caught between wanting to duck her head and keep it straight. Not knowing how she'd feel or what she'd do if she caught sight of a familiar face.

He led the party up to what looked like an apartment.  _His_   _place_. Talking about the attack, the workers, repairs and how soon things could be up and running. She inspected the room carefully when she was ushered inside. Back molars grinding together whenever Regina pressed the muzzle of her pistol just a bit harder into the soft of her side. Trying to stand as far away from Negan as possible as Simon and Regina stalled in the doorway before they could follow her. Brought up short when Negan held up his hand and said something she didn't catch. Pausing long enough to yell for someone to bring up the doctor before he swung the door closed with a vicious click. Forcing the two of them to jump back to avoid getting their chins clipped as a trio of guards took up space in the hall behind them.

And just like that, they were alone again.


	2. Chapter 2

"You didn't tell them," she murmured coldly as he propped the bat against the wall and left it there. It was the first thing she'd said since the Saviors surrounded them and it'd hurt coming up. Throat raw like she'd been screaming silently the entire time.

"No," he answered. Voice surprisingly free of humor or innuendo as his face pulled tight. Counting the ways she could be killing him as he eased himself down on the leather couch with a grunt. Already bleeding through the shirt Simon had wrapped around the wound before they'd moved into the compound. The walkers had been piled so high she'd been was forced to walk between the mounds at a snail's pace. Hands bound in front of her as the woman watched her like a hawk. She'd ignored her, keeping her head high. Eyes fast on the point of space were Simon had been hovering at Negan's elbow. Talking to him hurriedly - hushed.

"You don't trust them."

It wasn't derisive or gleeful, just a statement of a fact. Reminding him that his castle was made of glass. Every bit as breakable as skin and bone when it came down to it. A reminder that it  _could_ be done. That they  _could_  win. They had to.

"Sure I do," he returned with a lazy flick of his fingers, that same self-assured taint already leeching back. Making a muscle in her cheek twitch. "That's exactly why I keep 'em on a leash. You can only ever trust someone to a point."

Her hands tightened in her lap as Glenn's ghost wisped through the air behind Negan's shoulder. Face ruined and dripping blood that hissed like steam as it dappled the back of the couch. Smearing down Negan's arms as he leaned back and spread them across the back of the couch. Taking up all the space like she gave a damn about appearances. Like she didn't know it was all an act. Over compensation.  _Weakness_. The dog that barked the loudest usually had the most to lose. And now she could feel it.  _She_   _knew_   _him_. Slowly sinking into all his secret parts the longer they shared the same air.

"What about trusting yourself?" she bit off. Every word surging like something half-poisonous and angry.

He grinned at her, leaning forward in a textbook sign of interest. Legs spreading wider across the couch like an invitation.

"Now that's a good question. Damn, you're sharp. No wonder ol' Greg is just flapping in the wind since you came along. Hmmm...aren't I just the luckiest sonofabitch? Smoking hot, smart, and a fighter. You're the whole package, aren't you sweetheart?"

Somewhere outside a Savior screamed. The sound punctuated by a single gunshot, a pause, then one more. But Negan barely even blinked. Watching her intently, like she was the only interesting thing in the room. Like she was the  _only_   _thing_  he wanted to see for the rest of his life and he was already content with that fact.

It scared her.

More than she liked to admit.

"Go to hell," she hissed, using the pain like an anchor as her nails cut bloody half-moons into her palms. Something to stop herself from killing the space and either clawing his eyes out or punching his mouth with hers in a brutal kiss.

A knock on the door killed whatever he'd been about to say. Making something in her chest jump uncomfortably as Negan looked visibly annoyed at the interruption. Like he'd forgotten he was even injured, before he barked an affirmative.

She looked up just in time to see Harlan stop dead at the sight of her. Eyes flicking from her to Negan and then back again.  _Worried_. It took effort to mask it, but she didn't risk anything more than meeting them. Knowing Negan was watching her too closely for any sort of signal.

"Ah, Doctor Cockblock, terrible timing. Come in," Negan greeted as Harlan slowly closed the door. Leaning back against the couch with an expression somewhere between bloodshed and the cat who'd just eaten the canary.

The line of her mouth narrowed at the sight of a fading black eye and noticeably thinner cheekbones. Harlan looked like the Sanctuary didn't agree with him. She couldn't say she blamed him.

"Maggie," Harlan greeted, inclining his head stiffly in Negan's direction with such disdain she could see it straining the lines of his face. "It's good to see you again."

"You know each other, awesome," Negan praised, watching the man approach through the slits of his eyes. "You do get around, don't you?"

Harlan didn't say anything. Just sank down on one knee and set his kit on the carpet. Undoing the makeshift bandage and cutting the hole in Negan's jeans wider so he could see the wound.

"You got lucky, looks like it just grazed you," the doctor commented, blotting at the wound with a wad of gauze and some rubbing alcohol. "Needs a stitch or two, though. I'll do that now."

The silence was uncomfortable.

But the weight of his eyes was worse.

Because Negan didn't look away from her.

 _Not_   _once_.

* * *

"All done," Harlan commented, crumpling the garbage and shoving it into a plastic bag in his kit. Knee joints popping loudly as he got to his feet. "I'll want to check the dressing in a day or two, make sure everything is healing alright."

Negan nodded, the fingers of his right-hand twitching slightly. Like he was just  _itching_  to wrap them around the handle of his bat as Harlan turned to her.

"And you? You doing okay?"

She nodded. Brisk, but not quick.

The last thing she wanted was Negan to find out about the baby.

Especially now that-

"Oh right, I forgot." Negan purred sarcastically, leaning forward. Tone making it obvious he hadn't. "You weren't doing so hot back there, were you? Yeah, I remember, everyone was protecting you. Hell, you were the reason they were out there in the first place, weren't you? Trying to get you to Gregory's little piece of paradise, hmm?"

It was so startling easy to hate him in that moment, the next emotion translated as relief.

And she clung to the that feeling like wild-fire.

"Your people killed our Doctor," she issued, voice like gravel – rough and uneven. Remembering the heavy way Daryl had gotten out of the car when they'd pulled in. Rosita had been stuck so firm to Eugene's side that there wasn't any air left between them. Denise's absence had been a mar. Ugly and damning. "We had no choice. Her name was Denise. You should own to that."

But Negan wasn't looking at her.

He was looking at Harlan.

"It could have been a lot worse," Harlan started slowly. Testing the waters. Clearly uncertain of how much he should say, or how much had already been said. "She needed uninterrupted rest. No strenuous activity."

"Well, clearly she's fully recovered then," Negan remarked, off hand and easy like it was barely an inconvenience. "Considering her and Rick just redecorated the  _shit_  out of the outside."

Harlan nodded, ignoring the bulk of it to focus on the point. Resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. Like if he could give her strength somehow, he would in a heartbeat.

"I'm just glad it wasn't appendicitis. It's not exactly my speciality," he said with a warm smile.

Suddenly, like a switch being flipped, she realized Negan was  _seething_. But the most frightening part was that none of it showed on his face. The usual smirk was still there, the predatory sprawl, all of it. This time it was a cover for something else. Something that had the power to shred skin and break bones with his bare hands. Something that-

"Alright, doc. House call is over. I'm sure you have enough to do. Seeing people behind my back and all. Just remember, here you pay for what you take. And my generosity only goes so far. Understand?"

The anger was slow burning, but there. Jealous, selfish and strong enough that it seared the inside of her sinuses. Swooping down and spreading in her belly like heartburn as her hands shook in her lap. Fighting the second-hand emotions as Harlan shot her a puzzled look. Barely aware of him leaving the room until the rage gradually trickled away. Leaving her internally reeling, caught off guard when an unexpected streak of guilt edged its way across her mind's eye.

It wasn't her, she realized distantly.

_It was Negan._

"You alright?" he asked, leaning forward. Concerned. Maybe even sincere. Eyes nothing like the dark, blood-flecked pits they'd been that night in the clearing.  _No_. Now they were open and emotive and  _hers_  whether she wanted him or not.

She ignored it.

"Doesn't seem smart, beating up your only doctor," she said instead. Sucking in a steadying breath as he smoothed the cuff of his ruined jeans. Unable to resist digging it in. "He's one of the good ones. He cares about his patients. He's missed at the Hilltop."

Negan's eyes narrowed.

"I bet he is," he returned. Picking at a rip in the couch nonchalantly. Body language easing back into a fake sprawl she didn't need the bond to spot from a mile away. "Doctor Carson is having some problems fitting in. He isn't following the rules. His brother was a fast learner. Guess there's always one black sheep in a family."

"What rules?" she pressed automatically. Trying to keep him talking. Distracted. Danger crackling like an electric charge the longer the moment stretched as he smirked again. Eyes set at a sulky half-mast she supposed some women might find attractive.

"Oh, you know the rules. The rules are the reason we own you. You, Rick, King Shit and his pet pussy. Rules are what makes the world go round, then and now. You know that," he hummed easily. Like the definition of a warm summer night on the back porch with a jug of sweet tea and the happy tones of Beth's laughter.

"You don't own us. You never did."

He just laughed again.

"Damn, you even look good lying, don't you? We owned you the moment Rick gave in, the moment my people came across your people on the road. The moment you killed my men. Nature has the same rules, sweetheart. Kill or be killed. Eat or starve. Fight or die. Hell, fight and still die. It happens all the damn time."

You'd think she'd be tired of the taste of blood on her tongue by now. But she didn't take her teeth out of the inside of her cheek. She couldn't. It was the only thing keeping her from sinking into every part of him, screaming and crying the whole way.

"And the rules here?"

His smile was like broken glass as he rested his hand across the metal clips holding the bandage snug around his leg. Flashy but sharp like a metaphor.

"Capitalism didn't die with the rest of the world, sweetheart. The players on top just changed."

She shook her head before she could stop herself. Eyes threatening to go unfocused when the bat in the corner started to leak red across the floor. Pudding from the smooth-grain seams until the crimson had pooled into a shallow dip in the carpet. Doming slowly until she was forced to blink and the blood was gone again.

"Don't call me that," she gritted out.

Negan cocked his head.

"What? Sweetheart?"

She nodded. The entire action was unnecessary but she couldn't help it. She couldn't help a lot of things right now. But she figured that fact was the least of her problems.

"What should I call you then?"

"My name would be start," she snapped. Hating when it came out softer than she intended. Like even now there was a part of her that desperately wanted to protect his feelings. "Maggie Rhee."

The rush of exaltation was obvious through their connection. It was the part of him that would never rub off. The part that had been waiting her entire life to come alive under her skin. The part that throbbed and wanted like a siren's call. Reminding her she didn't know his taste. Or the feeling of his skin gliding against hers. Reminding her of all the things she was going to look him in the eye and refuse- even if it slowly killed her.

"Well, look at us," he murmured richly. Showing her his throat as he leaned back. Every inch of him screaming an invitation as her nails bit into the fake leather arm-rests of her chair. "Here we are, coming up in the world. Before you know it we might even be able to shake hands without you stabbing me."

Acid reflux rushed up her throat.

"You know, I had plans for you. You, Rick and the King of the Round Table. How awkward is that now, hmm?"

The questions she wanted to ask herself were ugly.

How could he be her one?

What did that say about her?

What would've happened if Glenn hadn't-

"This has to stop," she said instead, steeling herself. Keeping her palm flat on the outline of Glenn's watch in her pocket. "The killing. It has to end."

"Of course it does," Negan returned, far too easily. Grunting out a remix of pain and stiffening joints as he got to his feet, stretching slowly. Looming over her for a long moment before moving away at a slow hobble. "But you and ol' Rick the dick have really stepped in it this time. Now, I have to clean house. As far as my men are concerned mercy is forfeit. You did that. Not me. Every time you fuck up I have to lay down the law, you think I like doing that?"

The answer was immediate.

The truth costing her nothing.

"Yes," she clipped. Remembering the way he'd come out of the RV in the dark. Like a captive audience was the best audience. Knowing that every cell in them was trained on him. And getting off on it in the same way.

Negan just chuckled, limping a bit before using the wall as a brace. Hip cocked as the rough of his jeans caught on the painted concrete walls. Reaching out with fingers that still had red on them until the bat was in his palm again.

She stiffened.

A half-second later he paused with his back to her.

The silence meant something. That stretch between the moment he picked up Lucille and the moment he set her back down again. She didn't know exactly what it was. But something in her shoulders slackened all the same.

His back was still to her when she spoke again.

"Would you? Would you stop If I asked you to?"

For the first time since she'd met him he didn't have anything to say.


	3. Chapter 3

She was still picking at her dinner, trying not to seem too eager about the massive square of lasagna. Or too obvious when she continued to ignore the four pack of beer one of the Saviors had brought in when there was a knock on the door.

"Come," Negan answered, fingers curling lazily in a come hither motion that seemed to be for her benefit.

She wasn't entirely surprised to see Simon walk in, or the flicker of confusion when the scene that greeted him turned out to be far more domestic then she was comfortable with. With her and Negan seated at the small, four-person table by the window, eating dinner in complete and utter silence.

"Simon, give our compliments to the chef. Dinner was fucking delightful. Nearly forgot lasagna was supposed to have meat it in. Someone's upped their game in the kitchens. Who was it?"

"Geena," Simon answered, hands in his hips. "The one that did that Shepherds pie last week. That woman is a force to be reckoned with. Especially with a spatula. Or so my rear end can attest."

Negan laughed.

Her eyes flickered towards the open door and the hallway beyond. There were still two guards. Both of them carrying semi-automatics, knives, and a Glock each.

"Shall I escort our guest to different accommodations for the night?" Simon asked, still eying her in a way she didn't like. Like he was trying to peel her apart, piece by piece to get to the point. "I had the workers set up one of the suites. Private bathroom, kitchen, the works."

She shifted, about to get up pre-emptively when Negan smirked. Shaking his head before letting it loll back lazily.

"The go-getter attitude is appreciated, Simon. But the widow stays here tonight. Do run and tell my wives they have the night off, would you? No point in them sittin' around being gorgeous when I'm not around to see it."

Simon nodded and turned to go, just about at the threshold before-

"And since I am in such a fucking good mood, feel free to treat yourself while you're there," Negan offered, grin Cheshire and showing far too many teeth. You know the rules. Take Dwighty-boy with you. I'm starting to think his dick really did fall off after all."

She didn't hear whatever Simon said in reply. Too busy trying to keep down everything she'd eaten as something dangerously close to jealousy threatened to rear its ugly head.

 _'He was hers,'_  A small voice seethed. ' _Hers.'_

"I would be more comfortable somewhere else," she managed instead. Taking it as a cue as she pushed back her plate and got to her feet. Toes curling harshly in her boots. Needing it to hurt as her nails ached against the unforgiving soles.

Negan just leered at her.

"I am sure you would be," he purred, scooping up the last of his dinner as he waved Simon out the door. Waiting for the annoyed sounding click before he continued. "But I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"So, is this how it's going to be?" she questioned, bracing her hands on either side of her plate as she stood her ground. Half a head taller than him as he remained sitting. Looking up at her like-  _no_.

"It's safer, he countered, tossing his napkin to the side. "You shits killed  _a lot_  of my people- some of 'em had families who are none to happy about that as you can imagine. Everyone knows you're here by now and half of 'em will be out for blood. I can keep you safe. No one will touch you here, not even me, not unless you want it."

The pause was obvious and stagnant as Negan looked right back at her. Bold as brass. Like he had the god given right to do just that before he shifted. Knuckling the back of his head as the sound threatened to send tingles up the back of her spine.

"Truth is, I didn't think I'd ever find you. And now, when everything's gone and ended, here you are. Right here. Right now. Right in front of me. And I don't plan on lettin' you go."

The muscles under her skin twitched into a thousand different micro-expressions of disgust and ruined longing.

"You can't make me stay," she issued, gratified when the words came out more or less steady.

"But you want to," Negan supplied, grinning at her with low-slung lids. Sleepy and sensual like an unspoken invitation. "Just the same as I want to leave this behind and put all my chips on you, darlin'. I know.  _I get it._  I might be new to this whole soulmate thing, but I know what I'm feelin' and frankly- there isn't a corner of the world I wouldn't chase you to."

The realization that some people might find that romantic made her want to retch.

But it was only made a thousand times worse when she realized he meant every word.

That he was almost  _desperate_  for her approval.

Wanting her to want him as the little part of him that existed under her skin-  _tugged_.

Horror mingled with an awful sort of righteousness as the truth of what she was up against reflected in his expression for the first time. Leaving behind an after taste that lingered long after she locked herself in the bathroom and quietly vomited up everything she'd eaten. Eyes stinging with tears as she watched his shadow stall, then firm against the door with a gentle thud of pressure. Negotiating closeness like a hostage situation, only in reverse.

* * *

She woke up the next morning to a low throbbing pain in her left calf that wasn't hers. Looking up from the sheets and pillows that still smelled thick with him as he slept fitfully on the couch on the other side of the room.

At first she was surprised she'd even fallen asleep at all. But that was quickly pushed aside when she realized two things in quick succession. The pain she was feeling was _through_  him. And second, their connection through the bond was weak somehow, like a two-way radio with a bad connection, there was the threat of static.

She got to her feet slowly. Trying to make sense of the way sleep did something complimentary to his face. Almost exciting her with the vulnerability of it as he shifted and let go of a soft sound. Arms crossed loosely over his chest as the blanket puddled humid and untidy on the floor, like he'd kicked it off sometime during the night. Her hand curled around the back of the couch, realizing he was frowning in his sleep. Laugh lines scrunching in on themselves as she took in the linen bandage that'd stained itself a rosy-pink overnight. Sweat dampening his black t-shirt before-

She crossed the rest of the space without even being aware of it. Letting her hand hover just above his forehead as the heat of fever was obvious without having to touch. Taking in the pained little twitches that were starting to wrack his body like a continuous shiver as she stalled in place. Caught between wanting to help and something else- not running, but something darker.

The wound was infected.

Hesitation was a living, breathing animal as she slowly straightened. Eyes flicking from him to the door then back again. This could be her chance.  _Her only chance._  Rick and the others would have noticed her absence by now. She needed to get back to them before they did something stupid, or worse.

She settled on a compromise. Snatching the buck knife and holster she'd noticed the night before on her way to the door. Sliding it safely under her shirt, between the valley of her breasts as she grabbed one of Negan's shirts - some dusty looking blue jean button up and slipped it on over her clothes to hide the outline. The labored inhale and exhale of his breathing followed her as she crossed the room to check the windows. Memorizing the layout of the roof before she flicked the eastern most one unlocked. The one that let out onto a crease in the roof towards the rear of the compound. Figuring it would be her best option for escape when night fell before she squared her shoulders and called out to alert the guards.

"Get Doctor Carson, now."

* * *

She stayed back as the room crowded with a cautious pin-wheel of people, letting her spine hide the way her fingers were slowly prying the creaky window open as Negan and Harlan argued with each other. Something about infection and tainted blood as Harlan carefully refused to look at her. Making an effort not to draw attention in a way that made her that much more alert. On the look out for a sign. An opening. Whatever it was, she'd take it. She couldn't stay here.

"Well, something sure as shit happened, doc," Negan spat as Harlan rooted through his kit, muttering about needing stronger antibiotics. "So patch me the fuck up and let's get the show on the road."

She didn't react when the window seal popped audibly. Keeping her eyes on them like she hadn't noticed as Simon sank down on his haunches beside the couch. Making sure he was closer to Negan than anyone in the room as Negan tossed the cloth he'd been using clear across the room. Splatting wetly against the wall, soaked with fever-sweat.

It was a play for control on Simon's part. But only in the way one did when they wanted things back to normal. They'd rattled the cage. That was for damn sure. Everyone was on edge, and while it hadn't ended how they'd been hoping, the end result was as good as. With Negan sick and wounded the Saviors weren't going anywhere. It'd bought them time to try again.

"What do you need, doc?" Simon asked firmly, straightening to his full height like he was ready to take action. Hiking up his jeans so they were perched on the tilt of his hips as he twirled a set of heavy looking keys on his index finger. "You need approval for the good stuff and I think this applies."

Harlan rattled off a list and before he was even done Simon had ranged over to the door and tossed the keys at the blonde woman with the barcode tattoo lurking outside the door.

"You said you crawled underneath one of the office containers?" Harlan asked, looking at the wound critically. Making a muscle in Negan's thigh jump as he pressed down with a fresh pad soaked in antiseptic. "With an open wound it isn't out of the ordinary to have picked up something. The anti-biotics I gave you should have worked, but the strain of infection was probably stronger than your body could fight. Especially with a gunshot wound. I'm going to put you on a strong dose - full spectrum just to be safe - and some pain killers. If you take them together...that will lessen the downtime. Right now your body needs to rest. And you need to let it or you'll be in worse shape, probably for longer."

Harlan caught her eye as he packed up and left – significant and just a bit longer than necessary. Leaving them with two bottles of pills and an empty glass as Negan settled into the couch cushions with a sigh - waiting for the pills to take effect.

And all along she could feel it. The queasy, unsettled exhaustion that threatened to leak into her bones like an oil slick. The sense that something wasn't quite right had been given not only confirmation, but a solution. Sending her mind in all sorts of directions as she tried to sort out where he started and she ended.

She didn't think it would be like this. Feeling like she was ready to drown under all this raw, feverish static. Like she could lose herself and everything she stood for with just a moment of inattention. It would be easy because he wanted her too. He was already in her head, spreading and whispering. And part of her wanted to just make it stop. To step forward, take his hand and-

Negan's eyes were back on her – dark and maybe even worried – when she wavered back against the window. Closing her eyes and clenching the frame as Simon said something in the foreground- hushed for only Negan to hear. Grateful for the wall at her back as the weight tried to crush her.

_When did the good parts start?_

_The ones she remembered people gushing about?_

She knew the answer.

But the truth was, part of her still couldn't accept it.

_Because this wasn't how it was supposed to be._

He was supposed to be hers.

He  _was_ hers.

But now he couldn't be.

Not him.

_Not ever._

That part, what they could have been, was dead on arrival.

Dead like Glenn.

Dead like Beth and her father.

Dead and never coming back.

Simon glared when Negan barked for him to get out a couple minutes later. Looking at her with the most dangerous kind of suspicion as the door swung shut. The one that reminded her of like broken toys and fallen favoritism as she stared back without speaking. Letting him look right until the lock clicked.

It didn't matter.

She didn't plan on being here long enough to find out how far Simon was willing go to get his position back.

* * *

Two hours later Negan started slurring.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" he managed, eying her from the depths of the couch cushions. Injured leg caught between the seams like a make-shift brace. Visibly fighting to stay awake as whatever Harlan had given him took effect.

She kept one eye on the clock as night fell outside.

 _If Harlan had a plan he'd better get here quick._  
  
"Thinking about what?" she asked, more relaxed now that the dangerous parts of him had started softening. Too weak to do anything but watch her as she crossed over to the window and opened it all the way.

"You know," Negan slurred, head too heavy to keep upright. Frowning as the point lasped away in mid-sentence before changing tracks entirely. "…You- you can't expect me to change who I am."

Her fists clenched at her side.

"I don't want anything from you," she hissed, boot heels trying and failing to grind their way through the floor as his lashes fluttered. Heavy and soft like a muggy summer night. Humidity already teasing a building storm.

It was a lie no matter which side you looked at. But he didn't give her time to come to terms with it before he carried on to the next bombshell. Seeming to know exactly what to say to keep her reeling as he looped his thumb in his belt and tugged suggestively.

"I can feel it you know," he hummed. Consonants gliding out slick and slow, like even the syllables were high. "What you and the 'doc are hiding?  _Here_."

Impossible as it was, the hand Negan rested on his belly ghosted without weight over hers. Idling there with a gentle, reverent pressure as he met her stare. Feeling the echo of its warmth through their bond as she shuddered. Warring between disgust and pleasure. Fear was a close third.

 _He knew._  Maybe he'd known since that moment in the office container. She had a feeling any other time she'd be able to tell, but with the drugs in his system everything was jumbled and sluggish. Pulsing with warm tones and spreading night.

"And I get it. It's alright," he told her, voice low like he was actually trying to convince her it would be.

"Now what?" she asked bluntly, holding herself so stiffly she felt breakable. Deciding to make a stand as she reached under her shirt and brought out the knife she'd stashed. Letting him see it as the corner of his lips lifted in response. Smirking at her like he never wanted to see anything else.

"Now...now you think about letting me help you," he answered simply. Trying to lift his head from the back of the couch only to have it lurch off to the right. Eyes heavy-lidded. Struggling to stay awake. "Let me...Maggie."

The warm glow throbbed under her skin as he called her by name for the first time.

"You took away the father," she replied coldly, sliding the blade out of it's sheath with a shivering sound. "His name was Glenn. There's nothing you can do. Not for me."

His head cocked.

"Well-" he started.

"Don't say it," she rasped. Throat painfully dry as rage and grief curdled in the back of her throat. "You could  _never_  be."

He didn't even look offended.

It only made her hate him more.

"You and I don't have that luxury, darling," he told her bluntly, surprisingly sober for someone who was barely there. Slipping away in her mind's eye as the parts of him that'd taken up residence without her consent started to go out like street lights at dawn.

She shook her head.

"We can never.  _I can't_."

She thought about the expression on Glenn's face before the bat came down. Abraham's blood slowly sinking into the ground between them as he looked at her through the dark - every inch of him trying to reach her without moving. Then she thought about the ring her finger and how just a bit too big. She thought about how it'd never felt right, but more about how she'd never said anything. Glenn had never asked, so she'd never mentioned it. Meekly allowing the death of all her secret hopes as they got buried under the weight of more important things. Things like survival. Like living day to day. Making it through one loss, then the next. Telling herself that someday maybe she could-

"Finding you doesn't mean I lose myself," she murmured. Believing it for a brief, powerful second before she remembered how much she'd wanted to yield when they'd touched.

"That's  _exactly_ what it means darlin', same goes for me," he slurred, eyes most closed now. Feeling the sleepy pull of his exhaustion tug at the softest parts of her, encouraging her to follow him down. To just curl up beside him and listen to him breathe. "You aren't the only one who got the rug pulled out from under them.  _Hell_ , I used to be married before all this. Taught P.E and everything."

She took a violent step back, uncertain of when she'd gotten so close.

But as it was, it seemed to stand for something more that just the action.

Because Negan tried to sit up.

"You can't," he forced out, sweat glazed across his temple. Staring at her like he could read her somehow. Introducing an angry, worried quality that made her want to bare her teeth. "You can't…it doesn't work that way, you know that."

She looked up, alerted by the sound of footsteps and a soft murmur on the other side of the door. Recognizing Harlan's voice the moment before a dull thud echoed through the hall. Telling her everything she needed to know as she sucked in a breath and looked him right in the eye.

"Watch me."

* * *

The door opened with a soft click as Jesus and Harlan stepped over the fallen guards and dragged them inside. Closing the door behind them as Negan stirred against the cushions. Trying to sit up on his elbows before slumping back down with a groan.

"Is he out? I gave him enough painkillers to knock out a horse," Harlan hushed anxiously, before stepping over to take Negan's pulse. Not getting much but twitches and frowns as Negan struggled to stay conscious.

"Maggie?" Jesus prompted, making her look up with a jerk that cricked her neck. Realizing only then that she'd been caught staring. Too distracted by the way Negan was just lying there, wounded. Eyes unfocused through the gap between Harlan's hip and elbow as she watched him try to keep watching her. Right to the end. "You alright?"

"Fine," she replied, wiping her face. Taking the gun Jesus handed her -  _her_   _gun_  - before tossing Harlan a Glock and a backpack he could put his kit into. "Eugene?"

Jesus shook his head.

Her lips firmed into a line that ached across her face.

"I hate to say this, do no harm and all that, but are we really going to just leave him here? Alive?" Harlan asked uncertainly. Uncomfortable and pale as his bruises glowed neon-sallow in the low light. Eyes flicking from the door to the open window as the seconds ticked past. "This might be our only chance to end this.  _Now_. No one else has to die."

The hand Harlan tossed in Negan's direction was unnecessary and badly timed considering Negan's hand chose that moment to slip off his chest. Dragging his knuckles across the carpet as the sudden movement made them jump.

She opened her mouth, then stopped. Hesitating. Trying to swallow down a growing, cancerous suspicion. Something half-remembered and terrible before she finally shook her head. Decision made.

"They'll hear, and there's no time. Let's go."

It was awful how quickly they nodded.

They didn't know the whole truth.

How could they?

They didn't know that deep down, she would've stopped them if they tried.

She couldn't let them kill him.

Her stomach was tying itself into knots just thinking about it.

She'd find a way to make this right down the line.

If more people died because she couldn't end it here, she'd take that weight.

She needed time to think.

* * *

She had one foot on the window sill that led out onto roof when Negan suddenly stirred. Limbs frenetic and weak as the sight of her leaving made him reach out. Falling off the couch and onto the floor in an unsteady heap as Harlan cursed and jumped back.

"Don't-" Negan slurred, openly desperate for the first time as Jesus crouched down, hands curling around her shoulders as he gently pulled her up the rest of the way. Feeling something far too close to heartbreak tremble through her as Negan's lashes fluttered. Fists curling into the rug as he tried to pull himself towards her. "Don't leave."

She did anyway.

And it hurt like a hole in her chest the entire way back.


	4. Chapter 4

She didn't trust herself to drive.

Still, it had been a hard decision getting into the passenger seat. Hands needing something to keep them from acting out a thousand intrusive thoughts as they sped past trash-strewn streets and dense pockets of trees. Things like ripping off her seatbelt and opening the door while Jesus took a turn just a bit too fast. Or taking her knife and holding it to his throat, demanding he take her back. Every part of her screaming that she couldn't be this far from him. That it was going to kill her. That it physically  _hurt_  right there in the center of her chest as she felt him aching - maybe even screaming with her - the more space she put between them.

It was separation anxiety of the worst kind. The kind that made her hate herself and him. The kind that made her want to take her nails and rip into her own skin. To dig him out like something rotting and malignant as her veins broke open and slushed blood so thick it started pooling around her feet.

_She didn't want this._

_She didn't-_

But instead of doing any of those things, she clenched Glenn's watch to her breast and tried to match her breathing with Harlan's as he exhaled heavily in the backseat. Falling asleep against the boxes of supplies Jesus had stashed away while he'd been waiting to make his move.

Like most old things, it had a history behind it. It had been her father's watch. And his father's before him. It was the only keepsake she had of her old life. Something that connected her to the farm and the house. The front porch and thicket of trees where she'd spent most of her holidays, trying to escape the heat of high summer.

But even those memories weren't sacred. Because before she was aware of the switch, she was suddenly back there. Sitting on the porch swing in the afternoon sun, sorting through a basket of peaches with Beth. Both of them were maybe a year or two older, talking about Beth's college applications, when an unfamiliar voice called out a greeting.

Rather than seeing the blacktop in front of her, or Jesus' quiet glances, she drank in the sight of him – of Negan - walking up the dirt path. Experiencing the moment second-hand when she raised her hand, shading her eyes, as he waved at her sheepishly. The jingle of car keys issuing like an explanation long before she noticed the gravel-scuffs on the knees of his dress slacks and the dark stain of engine grease dotting the cuffs of his white shirt. Buttons already undone to the chest and slick to his skin in the Georgia heat.

_Was that how it was supposed to happen?_

How it would have happened?

It could have worked between them then.

She could feel it.

If the virus had never happened, that could've been them. Her life.  _Their life._  And she would have been happy.  _Whole._  Glenn could have passed her on the street or delivered pizza to the apartment she rented with her friends in the city and she wouldn't have given him a second glance.

She closed her eyes. Tears doming under her lashes as her skin burned hot with betrayal. Hating herself for suddenly wishing she'd taken a piece of him with her. Something she could touch. Something to remind her of-

"What did he do to you?" Jesus asked quietly, voice gentle. Completely at odds with the urge to snap at him as the interruption took her away from the sight of Negan's face. His smile tired, but genuine, as Beth took his cellphone inside to start charging. Handing him a glass of lemonade and inviting him to sit on one of the chairs before the entire scene shimmered and disappeared like a mirage.

 _'Nothing,'_  she thought silently, stomach roiling with grateful hatred.  _'Everything.'_

They were pulling through the gates at the Hilltop before she realized she'd never answered.

* * *

Six days later Gregory banged on the gates, snarling and freshly dead. Reaching up at her from the look-out turret with a broken jaw and fingerless hands. Each and every one of them cut off at the quick.

Jesus was the one who finally opened the gates and put him down. Looking him right in the eyes as he sank a knife into the back of his skull. Keeping him still as the man's collar gaped – revealing colorful boot-print bruises over every bit of skin she could see.

There was no note.

No explanation of where Gregory had been since he'd left her behind and disappeared.

She didn't need one to know why.

* * *

The next few weeks were torture.

She took over running the Hilltop officially, and that was okay for a while. Fulfilling and distracting as the war raged on and Rick and the others touched base here and there. Still going after the Saviors. Keeping them scared as the Kingdom tried to regroup after losing so many of their people.

She helped plan the next few raids, but instead of fighting, she started stepping back. Keeping herself in the reserves as she listened to the gunfire from afar. Drumming her nails against the steering wheel and trying to pretend she wasn't looking for black leather and low-slung jeans.

She also pretended she didn't notice the looks Jesus and Enid had started sharing when her back was turned. It was a conversation she was putting off. Knowing she'd have to face it sooner or later. But at this point she was just grateful Rick was so focused on the fight he didn't question why she'd changed her mind about being on the front lines.

Right now she needed answers more than anything.

* * *

It took her a while, but she found the books. Having vague, embarrassing memories of sneaking glances in the public library when her momma drifted over to the romance section and forgot she wasn't stuck to her hip like she'd promised when they left for the mall that morning.

She told herself it was to look for a loophole. Something she could use.  _Something she could use against him._  But it didn't matter. The books said the same things over and over. All in horribly positive, optimistic words with 'the more you know' facts labeled glitzy with hearts and stars in the margins.

_Because that was the thing, wasn't it?_

_Finding your soulmate was supposed to be the happiest moment of your life._

She pushed the book across the table. Wiping her eyes as her skin came back wet and over-heated. Nursing a low-grade headache that'd settled between her eyes ever since she'd started reading.

She took a careful sip of water and munched on a stale cracker. Taking small, nibbling bites before swallowing slowly. She hadn't kept much down the last few days. The lack of sleep was getting to her.

The sound of flipping pages seemed exaggerated as she leafed through the index. Blinking quickly as her mind threatened to play tricks on her. Super imposing the vague outline of Negan sitting down in the chair across from her. He was wearing a green, long-sleeved shirt, jeans and stubble. But more to the point, he looked tired, even to her. Like the last few weeks had been eating at him. Just like they had for her.

Their connection was see-through and barely there, but she still caught the tremor that ran through his hand as he made a frustrated sound and tossed the book he'd been reading behind him. Running his hand through his hair as her mouth tarted dry. Tongue peeking out before he looked up and caught her. Expression switching from surprise to relief, then something almost-

He was gone in the next blink.

Gone like he'd never been there at all.

But somehow she knew he had been.

She felt all the tension in her muscles slowly deflate as she leaned back in her chair. Bracing her hands around the edge of the table as she looked back at the empty chair with open frustration. It felt like a cheat code to a game she barely understood. It was as if their bond was trying to beat the distance somehow. Making it easier, or perhaps harder to live with, as her hands creased the pages she was holding. Giving her the impression, one that deep down she already knew, that a bond wasn't something you were ever meant to fight.

She needed a way out of this mess.

The faster the better.

* * *

When she finally found what she was looking for she barely made it to the sink before she was violently sick. Breathing unsteadily through harsh, hiccupping sobs as the part of her that'd once been young and believed in happy endings quietly curled up and died under her skin.

* * *

Enid found her like that sometime before the sun came up. Wondering if she looked as hollow as she felt as the girl dropped to her knees on the floor beside her. Lips moving. Saying her name. But she was too drained to listen. Feeling removed from it. Like an age had passed and she'd missed her time to mourn.

"I can't kill him," she whispered brokenly, fingers digging into the peeling linoleum that edged around the cabinet under the sink. "I tried. I wanted too, but-"

"Maggie, what is it?" Enid asked worriedly, eyes flicking from her, the toilet bowl then back to the sliver of room visible through the door. The room was a mess, books still scattered across the floor where she'd thrown them. All her sins left abandoned to the light. Naked.  _Open_. Not realizing she'd copied Negan until the after-image flickered in Enid's place. "Whatever it is, we can-"

She laughed.

It wasn't a nice sound.

It was like a slap. Harsh and out of character as Enid stilled beside her.

"After everything he's done… we can't kill him," she whispered, voice rising in unstructured disbelief. Only a couple notes from hysterical as Enid caught a glimpse of the closest book. Eyes going wide in the bathroom mirror as the silent question of 'how?' threatened to annex the remaining oxygen.

When the sobs came again they were ugly and hitching. Stained through with betrayal and loss, and only half of it was for Glenn. Hating herself even as every part of her stretched herself thin trying to reach him. Feeling Negan's absence like a hole in her heart as the rest of her struggled to cope.

In the end, Enid didn't tell her lies.

She didn't tell her they'd find a way.

Or that it would be alright.

She just held her.


End file.
